Saturday, February 28, 2009

Social contract? You can get fired in a hot one

As a freelancer for 28 years, I see work drying up like a bead of water on a greasy diner griddle. But people in "jobs" are the real hostages of fortune. They serve at the discretion of the thieving or desperate.

Well, maybe that’s harsh. It doesn’t help that these companies have been living on automatically renewed bridge loans like the rest of us and now those are gone. Zip—no money for payroll. Nope—small enough to fail. Commercial Darwinism—so sorry. See ya!

Here is a neat site I found on how to occupy all your waking hours right after getting laid off.

Check out:

No…don’t scroll down and then start that mid-morning nappie. I saw you eyeing the couch. Dig. Drill! See where this takes you.

My new philosophy is to try to stay local. If you need a job—check Craigs (loaded with idiots with the occasional gem) and walk through your local strip malls. People put signs in windows these days—it’s all very 30s.

Another approach—go into a nearby office building and go door to door until someone tosses you. No soliciting! Well, I wasn’t offering THAT…

Or maybe we will be offering THAT, who knows. Not that I have anything to put on the street anymore.

Friday, February 27, 2009

I got a boost from this book--so take that

I am a Democrat of 45 years' standing, but got a bad vibe off Barack Obama the minute he materialized teeth-first, like the Cheshire Cat, onto the national scene. Would still like to see those academic records, health report, and birth certificate, but that train has left the old station, I fear.

Now we are on a crazed rollercoaster to hell. I can't even move to Belize because I can't sell my upsidedown house. I also help take care of my mother and can't see her birdwatching in the jungle (although I can see myself at the beachfront bar every afternoon).

Who's bitter?

Anyhow, all my friends have deserted me because I am no longer trendy. So even mention the name Bill O'Reilly and those who remain nominally tolerant of me say, "Omigod, Star." (For an example--see comments.)

I don't always agree with the Billster--I think he cuts the president too much slack, for one thing.

But I will say it now, loud and clear, I enjoyed his book A Bold Fresh Piece of Humanity.

It's about coming up on the 1950s and 60s. He went to parochial school--I didn't. But there is shared ground there. He talks about playing outside all the time as a kid--"We were always sweaty," he notes. I laughed at that--how clearly I remember those clueless hours. His father was a laconic sort. On the few times he asked his dad for advice, Bill says, his father would rise, walk out of the room, saying over his shoulder, "Can't help ya."

Get it? We have to help ourselves. Maybe you are waiting for Stimmy Timmy to pull up with the government cash, but I am not. In fact, I just got on Medicare after a lifetime of putting into it and fully expect it to be trashed within a year or two.

Drive your friends wild--read A Bold Fresh Piece of Humanity or do what I did--get the audio. Bill reads fast. And he brings the funny.

Bill's advice in life? Slug it out. That is what we are all going to do. But let's compare notes, shall we?

Come do the Hopey Copey with me.